


Finding Neverland

by UlternateFreak



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Boys In Love, Brother-Sister Relationships, Daddy Issues, F/M, First Meetings, Friendship/Love, Gay Harley Keener, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Homophobic Language, Hurt Harley Keener, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Neverland (Peter Pan), Night Terrors, Peter Pan References, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Harley Keener, Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlternateFreak/pseuds/UlternateFreak
Summary: Peter Pan isn't a love story - Harley isn't Wendy, nor is Peter the boy who wouldn't grow up. Though life seems adamant in being full of hidden kisses, pirates, and boys falling from the sky.Perhaps things are interchangeable, and Never-land is simply a place where mother's guide their lost children with the hopes of being found.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Harley Keener's Mother, Harley Keener & Harley Keener's Sister, Harley Keener & Harley Keener's Sister & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	1. A Hidden Kiss (Harley)

_**"All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this..."** _

...

One day, when Harley was about seven or so - Harold Lee Keener had stooped over his son. A bottle held tightly within his hands, but pressed loosely against chapped lips.

"Life," he had said, lingering still with an air of doubt and leveled disgust, "ain't a love story. It's messy, and depressin'. Sometimes a real man's gotta make sacrifices. Ya remember that, Harley. Ya gotta be a man. Forget about _love_."

And that had been all that was said over the matter. The natural progression to that statement being forgotten entirely, but locked there in memory from that day onward. As far as Harley could recall, he had simply been watching the television set. A princess movie of some sorts. And perhaps that had sparked that all-so misplaced wording of 'love'...

  
Suppose it fitting then that his father had been the reason behind the end of what was essentially Harley's childhood. His leaving marking the end of innocence - with Harley cradling his crying sister, and watching as his mother had drawn herself upon her knees on the pavement.

Though even in absence, his father's shadow had continued to go about the house - ridiculing the family portraits that still littered about the walls, and taking refugee at the end of his mother's smile. And she had tried to deny it. For a long while after, no matter the hurt, she had kept to her job - being that of mother and father, and had even kept a belief in the 'stories'.

" _'She was sayin''_ , " Mrs. Keener had read aloud, the tattered emerald book held loosely together by an equally damaged spine, " _'that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies'_. Ya believe, don't ya, Abbie? If ya believe - clap your hands-"

"I believe, momma-!"

Though there the shadow had remained, conspicuously hidden in the right hand corner of her mouth.

"Do ya have a kiss, momma?"

"Course. Don't ya see it here, Abbie?" The woman had said, her fingers tracing along the small edges of the shadow.

And if it had been a kiss, Harley had once reasoned, then surely it had been tainted long ago.

...

_**" "No!" Shrieked Tinkerbell, who had heard Hook mutter about his deed as he sped through the forest.** _

_**"Why not?"** _

_**"It is poisoned."** _

_**"Poisoned? Who could have poisoned it?" "** _

...

_**"For a moment after Mr. and Mrs. Darling left the house the night-lights by the beds of the three children continued to burn clearly - but Wendy's light blinked and gave such a yawn that the other two yawned also...** _

_**There was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter than the night-lights, and in the time we have taken to say this, it had been in all the drawers of the nursery..."** _

...

The first time Harley had come close to clapping - his mind foolishly leading him to think other than what his father had cemented into stone - had been nearly extraordinary.

He had met an awfully great man - albeit a short, broken, and haunted one - but great nonetheless. And Harley had almost considered himself saved. He - just as the Wendy bird - had been visited, and would soon leave to the heavens, to take flight along the winds back and into the fair lagoons where the mermaids bathed and the Indians braved.

But it hadn't happened.

He had been left - yet again on the curbside - and purchased in trinkets and gifts for his silence. Not that anyone would have believed him should he have spoken. And such gifts had been nice for a time - no doubt in that - but they hadn't helped against the next passing of the tide.  
For within the great mans wake, he had left a small town riddled in fear. The Diner and the Treasure Chest corner store had both been destroyed. The water tower collapsing on the former. And his mother, along with a handful of other waitresses, had been left marooned.

Then, of course, had come the pirates - in droves with sneering remarks and silver tongues. The elders, naturally, seeking payment from his mother, and the youngers looking to define and extinguish that mark that Harley had obtained somewhere on his person. Only, it worsened - and by a months time, his horde had bruised him - gifting him with a split lip and a welted eye. And his mother had only room to dote for a breathe or two, her mind still pressed by worries of how to carry on.

...

_**" "Do you mean we shall both be drowned?"** _

_**"Look how the water is rising."** _

_**They put their hands over their eyes to shut out the sight. They thought they would soon be no more. As they sat thus something brushed against Peter as light as a kiss, and stayed there... It was the tail of a kite.** _

_**"Michael's kite," Peter said - "it lifted Michael off the ground - why should it not carry you?" "** _

...

It had been relatively easy for Harley to forget the ordeal, as if tossing away the bloodied shirt could finalize it all. And perhaps it had, in a way. For Harley's next line of thinking had led him back to the man's trinkets, and whether or not they could fetch a healthy sum.

"It doesn't matter how I got it," he had said to her face, the crisp bills on the table between them, "just take it. We need it."

"Oh, Harley...I don't know how on earth - thankya, darlin'. Anythin' helps."

"I'd built ya a house if I could, momma."

"With a fireplace?" She had asked. "And a garden. Oh, wouldn't that be nice."

...

_**" "But if she lies there," Tootles said, "she will die."** _

_**"Ay, she will die," Slightly admitted, "but there is no way out."** _

_**"Yes, there is," cried Peter. "Let us build a little house round her." "** _

...

"Hows it going, kid?"

"Fine," Harley had lied to the man, his voice light as he leveled the phone to his left ear. "Just makin' dinner for Bie."

"You? Making dinner?"

"Mommas restin'."

It hadn't been a lie in itself. Momma had been resting. Her new job had required her to drive trucks throughout the nights and into the early mornings. Most days, she'd only ever see her two children briefly at sunrise, and for minutes at a time at sundown. Her body too worn to do much else but show them a moments worth of affection.

And the man hadn't inquired further about it. So Harley had only continued to ask about his side of the world.

"We almost have the tower up. You should come see it some day."

"That'd be cool."

...

_**"A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in..."** _

...

The second time Harley had fallen into belief had been much more grand in scope, but painted in familiar strokes. Without the aftermath of riddled fear and destruction. Mostly.

And it had started with a cool string of words - spoken years after the failings of a father, but still nestled in the very fractured sort of continuous life only a handful of time removed from the appearance of the man.

"A boy fell from the sky."

Abbie had been no more than nine then, with her bare feet standing between the carpet and wood flooring of the den and kitchen.

"What did ya say, Bie?" Harley had asked from his spot by the sink - his sleeves half-haphazardly rolled up to his forearms.

Momma had already bidden her goodbyes hours earlier - with Harley nearly close to ending the nightly routine.

"A boy," Abbie had repeated. "I saw him. He came outta the sky and fell on the roof of the garage - I mean, your workshop."

The familiarity of the situation hadn't gone unnoticed by him. Even the air had been reminiscent - nipping against any, and all, traces of flesh as snow built along the stones. Though Harley had already been too involved to care. The need to put on some other, warmer, attire coming second to that of the destination.

"Hello-?"

The door had opened in fashionable taste, creaking inward with a slow drawl - the snow billowing behind, creating a crescenting draft that drifted in from the hole overhead.  
A snow globe, he had thought for a moment. Then, perpetuated by a small distinctive whimper, he had readied himself into utter silence.

And with yet another sob, Harley had spotted it. Or rather - him. A boy crouched by the rear end of his pickup truck. And while you'd think he'd be alarmed to see a such a stranger, Harley had only been pleasantly surprised.

"Boy" he had said broadly, his interest growing to shallow empathy and concern, "why are ya cryin'?"

The boy had leapt in an instant - jumping over Harley with detailed accuracy that defied natural law. Though the sight of the four outstretched limbs had been the true catalyst for the incredible scream that had worked it's way into Harley's vocal cords.

"Wait-!"

Harley had swung the bat with all his might - missing the crab-creature, easily - connecting instead to the front hood of his truck.

"Stop-stop-stop-!"

The creature hollered - its legs extending out into angular shapes that conformed onto the beams overhead. "Stop-!"

He had heard the sound - the bat still lifted in the air between them - but unmistakable, and definite against the brashed racing of interlocking screams.

A mask.

The sound had been that of a mask protruding to shield its master.

"T-Tony?" He had asked.

And though Harley had known the question foolish - for the face he had briefly caught had been clearly marked younger. The need to verbally ask had out-wavered any rational thought.

"No," the other had said, leveling only a fraction from his spot up in the rafters . "P-please - put the bat down-"

"In the light," Harley said. "I want to see ya in the light."

"Okay - okay..."

...

_**"Peter could be exceeding polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her beautifully. She was much pleased, and bowed beautifully to him from the bed.** _

_**"What's your name?" He asked.** _

_**"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," she replied with some satisfaction. "What is your name?"** _

...

"Just call me Spider-man-"

"That's hardly right." Harley leveled, placing the lock back onto the garage door. Though really, it had hardly mattered in the slightest.

"Its all you're gonna get." The boy said, his own arm holding outward to the night sky. "-bad service."

"No need for phones in Gods Country," Harley smirked. "Rose Hill," he then elaborated, "is a black hole."

"So how do you call Mr. Star-I mean, Tony, then? You said you were close-"

"Not close, but we on speakin' terms. And I use the special phone in the house."

"You have a special phone-?"

He shrugged. "I woulda said somethin' but ya looked so determined to get a signal up there. 'Sides, I only let friends into the house. Ya know, the first name bases kind."

"I can't," the other said, "you can call me Spidey, if you want. But that's it. Now may I please use your phone?"

...

"The flying mechanics aren't working - and Karens offline," the boy had said to the man, who had only continued to look on through the screen in complete aggravation.

"Irresponsible," he had clucked, "I warned you against trying the suit, kid-"

"I know."

"And of all places to land -," he stopped to look off, before catching Harley's gaze from behind the hero's shoulder, "just keep him inside till I get there, Keener."

The call had promptly ended then, the screen fizzling out into black nothingness.

"I usually opt not to use the screen," Harley offered into the silence. Then, after not having received a retort, he cooled his smile. "So, what's the deal with ya and daddy Stark-?"

"Mentor," the boy grumbled. "Hes my mentor."

"Whichever. What's the big deal with ya usin' the suit? It's yours ain't it?"

He shrugged. "Its experimental. I took it to new heights-"

"So ya stole it?" Abbie had asked, forcing the two boys to peer round. And as before, she was standing in between the two rooms. Though her hair, usually held in neat braids, laid flat and free.

"Didn't I send ya to bed?" Harley asked.

"I want to meet him," she said, "the man. Please? I swear I'll go to bed right after."

"No. Ya know the rules. The night-lights are up, Bie."

...

_**"I won't go to bed," he had shouted, like one who still believed that he had the last word on the subject, "I won't, I won't. Nana, it isn't six o'clock yet-"** _

...

Spider-man, not unlike the man before him, had gone just as quickly as he had shown. With said man coming to collect him, though not by means of physical manifestation. Nor even in voice. Rather, Harley had found himself knocking against an iron shell casing of him.

"Don't do that," the boy had simply said. Then- "hes probably trying to calm down-"

"He did seem angry. No wonder ya were cryin' earlier-"

"I wasn't crying."

Harley smiled, shortly, at the rather indignant look that crossed the features of the mask. Though it lapsed. "I didn't expect him to show anyway," he had continued. "Anyhow. I suppose this is 'goodbye' then."

"No," the boy said, "I told you. I'll come back to fix your roof-"

"And as I said, its okay-"

"No, its not. I broke it, so I should be the one to fix it. So stop arguing."

Harley stared for a moment, but drew a short nod, "the old man might have issue with that," and offered him a hand. Which the other must have took as an agreement of sorts. For he had stopped, and had accepted the gesture - before opting off, and stepping into the Iron-man suit.

"Well, see ya, Spidey."

...

_**"The boy - leapt lightly through the window. Again, Mrs. Darling screamed - and - ran down into the street to look for his little body, but it was not there...she could see nothing but what she thought was a shooting star."** _

...

The following afternoon, several days removed from that night, but hardly forgotten, Harley had arrived home to a very peculiar sight. In which Spider-man, much like that of a bat, had been suspended overhead, welding into a metal sheet where the once crater had stood.

"You're fixin' the roof," he had said, announcing his presence. His bag having already been tossed over to the couch nestled in the center of the room. To which the boy nodded to, very much unaffected by his entrance.

"How are ya-?" Harley began, "is your suit made of nano-tech? Like Tony's Mark L?"

"Yeah," he said, releasing hold. "Its real handy - especially for impromptu welding-!"

...

"Wheres your sister?"

"School," Harley had answered. His eyes breaking off from the brim of his cup and onto the visible mouth of his afternoon guest. The boy had agreed to a refreshment, but had been adamant in keeping with the mask.

He took a leisurely sip.

"She stays after on Wednesdays and Fridays."

"Oh."

"Why ya ask? Ya seemed annoyed the last time she chatted ya up."

"Not annoyed," he said. "I'm use to the kid thing."

"Ya have a little siblin'?"

"No. Its just me. Though a huge demographic of my fans are wee little ones."

"Wee?" Harley smirked around his glass. "And what about age appropriate fans? Ya have many of those?"

"Yeah-"

"Lots of females, I imagine," he continued, "And boys too."

The other nodded, looking back to his handy work on the ceiling before giving into a second affirmative nod. "Yeah. It comes with the territory."

...

_**"When people in our set are introduced, it is customary for them to ask each others age, and so Wendy, who always liked to do the correct thing, asked Peter how old he was.** _

_**It was not really a happy question to ask him; it was like an examination..."** _

...

"Quite young." The boy had answered uneasily, taking a moment to place his glass neatly on the desk between them.

"Don't ya know?"

"I can't say. It defeats the whole purpose of this mask here-"

"Right," Harley said, "Age is so specific in such a small town like New York. Who woulda guessed."

The white eyes had turned to regard his own - slanting into horizontal slits that proved both comical and off-putting.

"I'm just curious if you're my age is all," he then said.

The boy took another moment then, his odd angular eyes trailing down to Harley's legs. And despite having had caused the look, Harley couldn't have helped but flinch at the sudden attention. Inwardly, he had hoped that the other wouldn't see the mark that everyone else had always found on him. Else maybe he'd come to suspect the line of thinking his mind had seemed adamant in exploring.

"I'd say so," the boy had answered, now squarely looking to his face once more. "Give or take."

...

It would have had been assumed that once the roof had been fixed that the story would have naturally ended there. The boy disappearing from his world altogether, more so than even the man. Perhaps even forgetting him in time after their last parting. And yet he had returned in two weeks time, surprising Harley yet again mid-afternoon.

"What brings ya here?"

"Oh, you know. Just in the neighborhood."

"Right."

It had become sort of episodic after that. The window in Harley's bedroom kept unlatched, and opened for those capable enough of scouring the walls. Sometimes the boy would come in the evenings, in time to bid Abbie goodnight - but mainly he stuck to the afternoons, two hours or so after Harley's own school day would end.

The absolute worst timing of these episodes had been an early arrival. In which Harley had just ended a meeting with a flock of pirates, and had hobbled himself home.

He hadn't allowed E.J. Fletcher to cheat off of him in math, so he and his goons had reminded Harley that he was only ever 'safe' if he acted along accordingly.

"Ya let me cheat next time, faggot - else its your hand that gets broken."

The blood had already dried once the boy had peeked in through the window. Though the bruises had bloomed large and harsh along his face and torso. The walk home doing little more then souring his mood further.

"What happened-?"

"Ya didn't knock," Harley said as he continued to change into a new shirt. His body turning about to offer his back as the only visible trace of naked skin.

"I never do." He said.

"Then don't be surprised when ya come in and I'm indecent-"

"Harley-"

"Its nothin'," he said, "I went bikin'. And I fell."

" _Harley_ ," the boy repeated.

"Spide-" He stopped, this time allowing himself to look at the other entirely. "It ain't fair," he spat, "I can't mock whine Spidey - or Spider-man. What sort of name is that? _Spider-man_."

"Don't change the subject-"

"Don't try the subject!" He hollered. "Ya ain't my momma. Ya ain't even my friend. Not without a proper name. And I mean a God given name. Now why don't ya just run along, _Spider-man_ , before I get the raid."

...

_**"Certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep.** _

_**"Peter, what is it?"** _

_**"I was just thinking," he said, a little scared. "It is only make-believe, isn't it...-?" "** _

...

He had left.

Not that Harley had given the boy a choice in the matter. Preferably, it had been for the best. So he hadn't dwell-ed on it, just as everything else, instead making work to tidy the house and figuring what supper would be for the night. All the while, trying to lessen the look of the bruises before Abbie's bus could arrive.

...

_**" "Now then," cried Peter, "no fuss, no blubbering; good-bye, Wendy," and he held out his hand cheerily, quite as if they must really go now, for he had something important to do.** _

_**She had to take his hand, and there was no indication that he would prefer a thimble...no doubt rather a forlorn attempt to prove himself that he did not care.** _

_**Then he nearly cried; but it struck him how indignant she would be if he laughed instead..."** _

...

Though Abbie had, and always would, know better than that. She had hugged him as per usual, and had sat and awaited for her after school snack. A means to carry her over until Harley could properly finish dinner.

"Do ya have homework?"

"I finished it," she said, "Ms. Liza said it was all right."

He nodded, and offered the small plate of a diagonally cut peanut butter banana sandwich to her. "Its all we have."

"Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" He had asked.

She frowned at him, her eyes slacking much as Spider-mans had done. Only, it resonated much more at ease through her. Perhaps in light of the mask. Or simply because it was far more human, and easily acceptable when given in earnest from the one person who had never given him reason to doubt.

"Did ya at least put medicine on it?"

"Yeah," he had nodded, "on all of em."

"Even there?"

"Where?"

"There," Abbie said, her finger landing to prob against the very end of his lip, "that's the most important one."

"Why?" Harley mused.

"That's where your kiss is, Harley. Just like momma's."

...

_**" "You will remember about changing your flannels, Peter?" She said, lingering over him.** _

_**"Yes."** _

_**"And you will take your medicine?"** _

_**"Yes."** _

_**That seemed to be everything, and an awkward pause followed. Peter, however was not the kind that breaks down before other people..."** _

...

The knock had surfaced a week after that, the house already set for a steady and unremarkable night. With Abbie's mind journeyed beyond this world and into the next, mapping itself into an absurd looking island where anything could be everything and nothing at all.

Momma had gone to work likewise - though she had left him with a parting gift along his right temple. A gesture he hadn't felt in an awfully long while. Perhaps, he reasoned, she had noticed a change in him. Mothers often did, after all. Even ones who had little time to look.

That night, she must have had been struck with an air of guilt and pity over his heart. And though done in earnest affection, the kiss had brought the shadow back into Harley's mind.

_'Love'._

"Yes?" Harley had asked, unlatching the window for the first time in ages.  
And to his surprise, it hadn't been the cold white eyes of a vigilante greeting him in the dark. Instead, he had found himself lost in deep brown ones - framed by equally brown, soft-looking, locks of hair.

"Spider-man-?"

"Peter," the boy had said. To which, yes - of course the boy crawling through his bedroom window had been named Peter. What else would it - could it - possibly have had ever been?

"Benjamin Parker," he had continued in light of himself. A delicate smile stretching across his face that sat somewhere lost between innocently charming and dangerously attractive. And though still partially lost in thought himself - Harley had backed away slowly, permitting the other in with a light and courteous bow of his head.

"Harley Angel Keener," he had managed in turn, "Nice to officially meet ya."

...

_**" "Ah me, how time flies!"** _

_**"Does it fly?" Asks the artful child, "the way you flew when you were a little girl? ...why can't you fly now, mother?"** _

_**"Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way."** _

_**"Why do they forget...-?" "** _

...

"'Cause he had another gal," Harley answered with a small smile. His head laxing to rest upon his knobby knees. "Though I usually lie and say he left for scratchers."

"How do you know?" Peter had asked.

"I saw him once. I drove over to Weston for Bie's ballet thing. That's where they got the fancy auditorium. And he was there with this rich-looking broad - had another little girl round Bie's age. A baby boy too. She wouldn't ever recognize him. And he didn't even seem to see me."

"That...that sucks, Harley. I'm sorry."

"It ain't you're doin'. 'Sides, it don't matter. He got what he wanted. A better family. That must be why, right? He saw marks on us all...or maybe it was just mine."

"What mark?"

"Bie has a nice one," Harley continued to drawl on into the night, "she just lights up a room. It's so hopeful - too hopeful. Momma had one of beauty - which he could never get, and boy did that bother him. Though its a deep shadow now. Mine." He paused. "Well everyone who sees it tries to get rid of it-"

"Harley, I really don't follow-"

"I'm a fag, Parker," he had said straightly, "that's what I mean. And most people hate me for that. They see it, and name it - and then punish me for it. And I think he saw that from the start. _Love_ stories and all. Now, I'm not sayin' all this to make ya sad. I love my life, Pete. Even when its unkind. I'm only tellin' ya 'cause I've never had a chance to own it. To say it. And ya seem not to care. 'Cause I know ya know. Ya caught me starin' too many times not to."

Peter nodded - with his lips pursing into what Harley had deemed his 'awfully thoughtful' look. A habit marked upon after months of finding it.

"I do know," Peter then admitted aloud, his eyes drifting to the stars around them. The night had been bright for once - with the stars gathering close to create a cluster of lights that had greeted the pair perched upon the roof of the Keener home.

"And I don't care. Not about that. But don't use that word, Harley. Have those guys been calling-?"

"Ain't nothin' to do about them," Harley sighed, "They're my problem, not yours. And once I get outta this town - once I have money to take Bie and momma away from here then they won't matter anymore. Neither will he."

"Still - I've had my fair share of bullies-"

"So ya know, right? Ya don't strike me as a guy who uses his powers like that. And if ya do - or did - then just know that it won't matter, Pete. They'll rot in the end. And we'll be," he laughed, "finding Neverland."

"Neverland?" Peter asked, turning to him as before, finding not a comical trace of a jest, but a positive outlook masked in sentimental value. "As in, Peter Pan's Neverland?"

"Yeah," he had nodded, "momma use to read that to me when I was a boy. So that when I was frightened, or when the world made me feel alone - I'd always have the night sky to look to - a star," he pointed off to the cluster still gathering close, his finger guiding Peter's view to the brightest star sitting among them, "I had almost forgotten how to fly. But these past few months-..."

Peter nodded once more, and patiently awaited for Harley to continue. Though the other had only kept onward - his smile honest, but laced with a withholding softness that he had bestowed to the stars, and the stars alone. But in spite of their beauty, they had merely watched from afar - seeking no action with what they had received. And yet they had seemed to be on his side that night.

"I'd like to take ya there," Harley had relented after a moment, still adamant on facing away from him, "ya know. If you'd like."

"To Neverland?" Peter asked, the smile naturally creeping in.

"Wouldn't that be alright?"

"Yeah." He said.

"Really?"

"Of course."

...

_**"He came back, and there was a greedy look in his eyes now which ought to have alarmed her, but did not.** _

_**"Wendy, do come with me - I'll teach you how to jump on the winds back, and then... - you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars"."** _

...

"Peter," he had tried, this time giving into a small tentative glance that still proved a tad too daunting for him, "...can I? Would it be right if I gave ya...?"

Peter petered forward, his arm raising in inclination to the question. As if it was customary to do so. And perhaps it had been. Perhaps Peter had always been the type of boy to accept gifts with readied palms.

"Its not that sort of gift," Harley chuckled.

"Well how would I know that?" Peter said, flushing as he withdrew his hand. "You aren't saying what it is."

"A kiss," he then braved on. "Would it be right if I kissed ya?"

And when the boy had said nothing, showing no signs of recognition to the question, Harley had simply sighed. "Don't ya know what a kiss is?"

"O-of course," Peter finally said.

"Then why not answer-? I'm takin' a huge leap of faith here-"

"I was caught off guard, Harley. No one ever really asks me things like that."

"Call me old fashioned-"

"No," Peter said, "that's not what I meant - just... Why do you want to kiss me?"

"'Cause I do? What sort of question is that?"

"Well, who asks to kiss someone?"

"A gentleman."

Peter nodded, though it hadn't given Harley much room to further act upon. So he hadn't budged - not even in the manner of deterrence.

"Okay," Peter began again, "I mean, um - do you like me? Is that what you're trying to say here? 'Cause I'm not really entirely sure-"

"That - among other things," Harley said with an enthusiastic toss of his head, "and before ya ask, I have to warn ya that ya might not want to hear the rest 'cause my wee faggy heart has imagined ya-"

Peter had relinquished first, and had drawn himself forward to plant a single peck on Harley's mockingly sweet, and willing, mouth. And though it had hardly been a thing, Harley had halted, with Peter shading the most delicate sort of scarlet that he'd ever had the pleasure of being presented with.

"T-there," Peter had half-mumbled, his face half-concealed in moonlight, "now shut up. And stop using that word. I don't like it when you talk about yourself like that." He rose to stand then, his knotted fingers acting erratic but taking heed in the pockets of his jeans. "Um - it's getting late, I should probably go. Else May might worry-"

"Wait-," Harley croaked, sitting up in an instant to bridge the gap between them. "I -," he flushed, "that is - y-you'll come back, won't ya?"

"Of course," Peter returned. His smile neat and light as ever. "I always do, don't I?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I just...don't want ya to forget, is all."

"Me - forget? Never." The neat smile splayed into a mischievous look then, though the eyes had remained fond-looking. "Just...always be waiting, and one night you'll hear me crowing-!"

"Really, Peter?" Harley asked, his own grin coming in strongly as the awkward boy released a crow into the night - the familiar suit materializing from his wrists as he went.

...

_**"Of course Peter promised; and then he flew away.**_

_**He took Mrs. Darling's kiss with him. The kiss that had been for no one else, Peter took quite easily.** _

_**Funny.** _

_**But she seemed satisfied.** _


	2. Night-lights (Peter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't been sure whether or not I was going to continue with another chapter, even if a short one. But while writing a small idea, I realized I could essentially have this be a companion piece - though then I decided to just include it as a second chapter, just in Peter's POV.

_**"Mrs. Darling quivered and went to the window - she looked out, and the night was peppered with stars.**_

_**Yet a nameless fear clutched at her heart.** _

_**Even Michael, already half asleep, knew that she was perturbed, and he asked, "Can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit?"** _

_**"Nothing, precious," she said; "they are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her children." "** _

...

Peter had stared at the small light, the emblem clear and distinct against the harsh shadows of his bedroom - a marvelous display of brilliant reds and blues that curved into a familiar, and rather cute, caricature of his mask.

Mr. Stark had gifted it to him - even without the usual promptings of such yearnings that Peter most definitely did not hint towards. Especially not to his mentor. Though perhaps the man had understood, had even begun to suspect or had seen it written across his face in his scrawl lettering.

"Nightmares," he had put it simply to Harley one evening, the word much too fleeting and crisp sounding. Perhaps 'night terrors' would have been more appropriate. Though 'terrors', as a word, felt so unsatisfactory - more a trope of an idea than an actual testament of horror.

"About what?"

The southern drawl of that voice had become quite a comfort to Peter through their time together. Familiar enough, but still situated in new-ality that it often kept his mind from straying too far ahead.

"Spider-man things," he had said. Again, reaching for the simplest of explanations. "You know."

"I don't actually," Harley had chuckled. Not unkindly, but rather in some sort of gestural stride meant to alleviate Peter's own mind. "Not really. I couldn't imagine that sort of existence."

He had nodded, taking in the night for it's worth and all that it had seemed to lack. Though that may have had been a simple personification of his own doing projected from within his weak heart.

"It can be a lot," he then said in earnest, "...some parts of it just leave a sort of feeling on you - or a memory of a feeling. Like dread, or despair. Hopelessness. And though you bested them before, they play out differently in the dark."

Whatever the expected outcome - whatever proved the more customary of a response to such a thing - Peter had been surprised. For Harley had leveled forward, his right arm tapered against the back of his neck.

"Its okay," he had said, aligning his forehead against Peter's own. "I get it - sort of. I wish I could offer somethin' more-"

"Harley-"

"That's right, Peter. Harley," he had soothed, "hes right here. And if and when ya ever need to talk about those sort of dreams - I can be your night-light."

"Thanks," Peter had nodded, his own arm coming to rest against the hand still curled around him, "I appreciate that."

...

_**"...she went from bed to bed singing enchantments over them, and little Michael flung his arms round her.**_

_**"Mother," he cried, "I'm glad of you."** _

...

Peter hadn't known how or when it had happened. Really, had it ever been possible to pinpoint the wild attitudes of feelings before they had settled? The answer, no. Not at all. One day you're simply you - then, by some strange cast of the wind, you're someone else, created by that then you but also a piece of another person entirely.

He, by the time in which he had grown to wonder, had already been established in the life of one Harley Keener for half a year. And while that establishment had been rooted in his own faults, the former hadn't been. Or latter. Certainly his feelings hadn't appeared until after his coming from the sky. Else he had felt for something he hadn't entirely known.

Either the case, Peter had been inclined to stick around for the other boy. His appearances, at first, being minimal - in between if time had permitted, and then successively - with time especially set aside to be offered. And it hadn't stirred thought at first - not that which fundamentally enamored and horrified the human psyche to no end. But that's what it had been - hadn't it? Peter had been enamored by the southern teen - touched by the quick-witted heartbreak, and the glint of hope that had sparked behind his tragically beautiful eyes.

And with that description in mind, perhaps he had to wonder - if that initial enamor had gone any further than that.

"So when do I get to meet her?"

"Her who?" Peter had asked, his hands preoccupied with the linen sheet that May had just handed him from the dryer.

"The girl you are obviously sneaking out to see."

"W-what?" He had panned, "I'm not sneaking out. Its patrol, May - its Spider-man things-"

"No, no-" the woman said, "I know Spider-man things. And this isn't one of 'em. You're gone longer, there's hardly any bruising - and your sightings are far too minimal-"

"Maybe I've gotten better at being stealthy."

May had fashioned a pause of her own design - her attention skipping forward to regard the washer that had housed a second load of laundry. 'Medium', she had decided, turning the dial - then, as if to save face and excel in comedic timing, she had said - "are you at least being safe?"

"Y-you mean webbing?"

"I mean rubbering-"

"May-!" Peter flushed.

"I gotta tell you, Peter, with the amount of young parents nowadays - and your whole shtick-"

"It isn't like that-!"

"Being sexually active is a big responsibility - and with your powers-"

"Please, stop - I'm, its - I'm a virgin, okay? Honest."

"Okay," she nodded, her smile neat but susceptible enough to dislodge the boy further.

"And there isn't some girl out there either," he relented, "its just Harley."

"Harley who?"

"Harley Keener."

He took to a small blanket then, this one being a duvet cover that usually sat over the love-seat in the living room. "Hes a friend. I uh - sorta met him when I crashed the Iron Spider suit."

"In Tennessee-"

"Yeah," he nodded, "well - he knows Mr. Stark. He actually knows I'm Spider-man too."

"Tony told him?" She had asked.

"No," he frowned, "I did. And I actually haven't told him that I told Harley."

"Hmm," May mouthed simply, "okay. Fine." She paused, "I still want to meet him though."

"Why?"

"If you spend that much time with them - boy or girl," she eyed, "- then I want to know them. And he must be awfully important if you're swinging to Tennessee every night."

"Its hardly swinging," Peter grumbled, "but fine."

"Oh. And you need to tell Tony. If you're gonna go round unmasking yourself for boys then you ought to tell him."

"Please don't say it like that, May."

...

"Ya want me to meet your aunt?" Harley had asked with a secretly sweet smile. This one being remarkable against the ends of a twilight sky.

"She wants to meet you," Peter corrected.

"But ya don't want me to?"

"Doesn't matter what I want-"

"It does."

"How?"

"Peter," he sighed, "do ya want me to meet her or not? As in, is it okay if I do?"

"Yes," Peter nodded, "I wouldn't mind it. Its fine. Really."

"Okay, then."

"Also," he continued, "Mr. Stark is gonna be there. He'll send the jet for you-"

"Wait - what? Why?"

"I sorta got around to telling him that we're friends now. So he has uh - questions. For the both of us."

" _Friends_?" Harley had repeated, as if the word had personally offended him.

"Yeah," Peter said shrugging, offering, in turn, an odd look to the other, "we are friends, aren't we?"

"Are we?"

"I -," Peter stopped, "I'd like to think we are... Or is there something else that you want me to say here?"

"No," Harley had said after a moment, his eyes no longer drawn to him. "It wouldn't count even if I did."

The sun had dipped further into the horizon, the diffused warm light dividing into a harsher cold spectrum of hues.

"So - when's the dinner?"

"Tuesday." Peter had answered.

"Alright," he said, "Ill see ya on Tuesday then, _buddy_."

"Wait-"

And though the remark had been clear, Harley had already slipped back onto the windowsill, his body disappearing into the shadows of the home.

...

_**" "Peter," she asked, trying to speak firmly, "what are your exact feelings to [about] me?"** _

_**"Those of a devoted son, Wendy."** _

_**"I thought so," she said, and went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room.** _

_**"You are so queer," he said, frankly puzzled, "and Tiger Lily is just the same. There is something she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my mother."** _

_**"No, indeed, it is not," Wendy replied with frightful emphasis."** _

...

Peter had only continued to stare down the nightlight, his eyes tracing along the features as his heart steadily fell back into rhythm. The perspiration still heavy on his face and neck.

Tonight's terrors had been bleak - as the accustomed usual - though the outset of dying beneath collapsed rubble had been replaced with a prickling of loneliness and sorrow.

_The hall had stretched on for miles - each door of a variant size, though all locked and forbidding against his trying. At the end, however, he had spotted a familiar looking window - the wall curving enough to mimic the look of sloped shingles. Only when he had come upon it - it too had been locked away, barred beneath a cage of iron that would not budge under his strength._

_Harley had been there too - behind, and within the window - with some other person Peter hadn't recognized. Nor had he cared to._

_"Harley," he had called, only the other hadn't heard him. So he had knocked - still - not a notion of comprehension had been given. "Harley-!"_

_The glass had rippled against his insistent knockings, the bars growing larger against Peter's fists after each meeting. "Please open-"_

_Behind him, though he hadn't dared to look, he could feel the hallway stretching further - the air, about him, turning cold with each passing second._

_"Harley-"_

_A shadow blossomed from overhead, it's contorted arms reaching out, snaking about the edges of the roof and uprooting the shingles beneath him._

_The teen within had rounded then, glancing at the window fleetingly but not honing in on Peter._

_He couldn't see him._

_And the other - the unknown assailant - had steered him away, with lips brushing against Harley's as they went._

_Peter, in bitter agony, had felt the shadow reach him then - with the ravenous color seeping into the fabric of the Spider-man suit. Spiraling the blues and reds into a bruised purple before succumbing into a terrible and surreal black._

_He screamed._

...

The journey had been brief in thanks to the booster elements of his nano-suit. And yet Peter had lingered along the rooftop for nearly a half hour, his eyes not finding bars, but still questionably cautious as to wander over both the sill and lock. Would it actually open, he had wondered. It had been late, after all - far later than he had ever dared to visit before. And yet he had to come.

So, with an intake of breath, he had permitted himself to try. Miraculously, it had opened - and Peter had dived in before it could second guess itself, his body remaining graceful, and delicate, as to not make a single sound.

Once equally footed, he had felt a tad foolish - standing over Harley who had slept on the bed quite close to the sill. Not beneath, but nearly besides.

"Harley," he had whispered, his hand going forward on it's own accord to make contact against the smooth milky skin peeking from beneath the bedding. And though he could hear the breathes, he had wanted to simply say his name. Knowing that the other wouldn't respond. For a moment after - perhaps minutes - he had relished in the feel of his hand against the cool flesh, before condemning himself into utter defeat, and humiliation, by slipping onto the bed entirely.

His suit had detracted, leaving him in a thin shirt and boxer briefs. And Harley had stirred against him - his body lazily adjusting to the way in which Peter had tucked himself within, and beneath, his arms. Though his breathing had remained quite leveled.

"Good," Peter had whispered in response to his own thoughts. Then - with the timing taken from May - he eased, "you should have made me say it."

He closed his eyes then, settling his breathing into an even match against the heart residing besides his own.

...

_"Finally," Harley had said, though his tone had continued to be of humorous delight, "thought you had gotten lost. Even with the most simplest of directions."_

_"Directions?" Peter had repeated, catching in his vision, the shoreline that had resided only a few handful of miles beneath them. "What directions?"_

_Harley grinned, his hand unceremoniously reaching for his own as they had begun to dive._

_"The second star to the right, Pete," he said against the wind, "it's always the second, and straight on-!"_

_"Til' morning," Peter had finished, his feet now touching down upon the surf. "Right. How could I forget."_


	3. Little White Bird (Harley & Peter)

**_"Standing on the ledge he could see trees far away, which were doubtless the Kensington Gardens, and the moment he saw them he entirely forgot that he was now a little boy - and away he flew, right over the houses..."_ **

...

Harley had often dreamt of Peter Pan - the story etched there into being by his mothers words - though written effortlessly by an author long gone from this world. Predominantly, that author's creation had featured in many games played by Harley over the years. Though never had he placed the name for himself, as children tended to do when adamant in charading games as their heroes. His peers would - or rather, they could should they had wished it. They had always chosen to play the hero, after all. Each set with a course in mind, dictating the rules of the game and the likes in which things were to end. Not Harley though. He had simply went along with the story, favoring for others to be the _Pan_ to his _Wendy_. Even if not pertaining to that tale, or with those exact roles in hand. Though, even he had to admit, that Wendy Darling had seemed more strong-willed than that.

"You'll be the captive," his classmates had remarked, this particular memory being a rare occasion in which he had been permitted to join them as a child, "the rest of us are soldiers."

And what a role he had played - with his head drawn, and body willing to be handled around. Their barks had been enriched in venom - their voices direct and unfeeling as they had bestowed their orders. His jail cell had been the underside of a bench, where the patch of grass had weeded out into nothing but dirt. There, they had chained him - the binds a mere jump-rope but true enough to static his ability to leave.

"Why do I have to stay here?" He had asked.

"'Cause you're a prisoner."

He had watched as the soldiers had armed themselves, each hand rifled with a series of stones - all bigger than a pebble, but smaller than a rock.

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That your gay," one of them had remarked, the word sounding much too cold and cruel, though oddly foreign, as if it hadn't been entirely understood as to what that word had truly meant.

"What's gay?" Harley had asked.

"My dad says ya are. He says your dads ashamed of ya-"

"What-?"

The first stone had been innocent enough, the second and third - followed by the onslaught of twenty or so more - had hurt. Each stinging against where another had hit before.

"Say it," they had continued, "say your gay-"

The game had hastily ended then, with Harley's face stained in tears - and his 'friends' merrily poking fun at the way he had curled into himself. Though they had also been angry. For he hadn't given them the satisfaction of saying what he was.

...

That particular memory had happened before the going of the shadow - before talk had been sent round the small town, stirring the children's stories of how Harley had been the sole reason as to why his father had left.

After all, who would have wanted Harley Keener? He was gay. And he was an awfully big cry baby.

When school had started up again, the shadow having passed between sessions mid-summer, Harley had found himself more alone than ever. His peers had already staked their claim and judgement, their words more intentive and understanding than when they had been 'playing'. Though even the adults had seemed adamant in making a point in scheming along with them. Some in looks - others, in looking away.

They had made it clear. He, Harley, had played his last role. No longer could he be part of their games. And that mark which everyone had seemed to know was there had finally blossomed into something uglier.

...

**_"...all the birds on the weeping beech had flown away when he alighted on it, and though that had not troubled him at the time, he saw its meaning now. Every living thing was shunning him. Poor little Peter Pan, he sat down and cried..."_ **

...

"That must have been rough," Peter had said to him, his voice gentle and delicate sounding. Harley, having had spoken last, merely chuckled softly. The guise adamant.

"Yeah," he had said. "It was, but - sorta got use to it. As I'm sure ya know."

"I just can't believe that it hasn't stopped-"

"Has yours?"

"In a way," Peter said truthfully, "it isn't as physical anymore, and really it's only Flash now. He used to be taller than me back in junior high, but then I hit a growth spurt. Now it's just words."

Harley hummed, "words are still awful. Especially for someone as kind as ya."

Peter had felt the ends of his cheeks perking then, the warm feeling now as casual and common as the breeze about them. "Always gotta put the charm on, huh?"

Harley slumped against him, his back reclining to brace against Peter's folded knees.

"Ya think I'm charmin'?" He had asked over his shoulder.

"You would be," Peter said, "if you'd quit while you were ahead."

The second hum had been quieter than the last, though Peter had caught it between his words. Idly, he had wondered if Harley was aware of that habit. He had seemed adamant in staking claim of the way in which Peter would often purse his lips after all.

"Wheres the fun in quittin'? Ya think birds quit when they fly?"

"What-? How are birds relevant here?"

"Ya deflect a lot," Harley said, turning about enough to squarely look at him, "ya know that? And birds ought to be in all sorts of conversations. Have ya ever watched one?"

"I've seen pigeons poop on people-"

"Birds never quit, Parker." He had continued with a sigh, "and they deserve respect for that. Gotta keep goin', they do. And if not for our own doubts, we'd be able to fly as openly and free as them. The moment we doubt - or quit - than we cease to fly. The only reason they can is because they have perfect faith. And to have faith is to have wings."

"Hmmm," Peter purposely drew, mockingly drawling the sound together into a southern twinge, "I guess I should learn some respect then."

Harley nodded, with his eyes still directed towards the skyline. "Do ya think birds ever shun their own kind? Or is that just a human thing?"

...

_**"The birds...were asleep, including the sentinels, except Solomon, who was wide awake on one side, and he listened quietly to Peter's adventures, and then told him their true meaning.** _

_**“...if you don't believe me,” Solomon said - a little cruelly - “Ruffle your feathers..."** _   
_**...and Peter tried most desperately - but he had none.** _

_**"Poor little half-and-half,” said Solomon, who was not really hard-hearted, “you will never be able to fly again, not even on windy days. You must live here - always.”** _

_**“Then I sha'n't be exactly a human?” Peter asked.** _

_**“No.”** _

_**“Nor exactly a bird?”** _

_**"No.”** _

_**"What shall I be?”** _

_**“You will be a Betwixt-and-Between,” Solomon said..."** _

...

Harley had watched May Parker from afar - his southern upbringing demanding his hand in helping her set the table, but mind overtly away from where she had physically stood besides him. Outwardly, she was quaint and delicate looking - highly romantic even. Though, beneath that - where it mattered most - a fire steadily grew.

"So where do you plan on going after high school?"

"May," Peter said, piping in from his spot against the island in the kitchen, "I'm sure Harley doesn't want to play twenty questions-"

"No," Harley had smiled, "its fine." He turned back to the older woman, who idly awaited his response - the napkins in her hands momentarily forgotten. "I honestly don't know. I could stay in Rose Hill, try community for a bit - but..."

"Need to fly the nest," May offered in a kind manner, "I get it. Most do. I myself couldn't wait to leave Maine. With or without Ben. But Peter here has droned on and on about how incredibly smart you are-"

"Shes totally lying," Peter remarked.

"He could practically write a book," she continued, eyes full of mirth, "maybe even a series. All full of pretty words-"

"Can we please stop playing let's pick on Peter?"

"Why?" Harley had asked. "Its one of my favorites."

"And it's the truth," May had laughed, "but in all seriousness, have you considered anything close? I know I may be partially biased but from what I hear, Empire State is a great option for someone like you-"

"Shes only saying that 'cause I'm hoping to get in there-"

"Are ya implyin' that I don't have what it takes?" Harley asked.

"Yeah, Peter," May teased, her hands guiding her pair of glasses onto the bridge of her nose. "Sounds awfully snooty-"

"That's," Peter paused, "no-no, what? That's not what I meant-! At all!"

The laugh that had erupted from the woman had been quite loud, a tad obnoxious sounding even, but it had proved pure and honest. And Harley couldn't have had helped but smile at the familiarity of it all.

...

_**"Her laugh is very like David's - I dare say she put this laugh into him.** _

_**She has been putting qualities into David, altering him, turning him...since the day she first knew him, and indeed long before..."** _

...

"Sure hope it is," a fourth voice had then announced from the door - which had opened easily, "knock-knock by the way."

May had frowned at Tony, but her eyes had remained cool. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Both Peter and Harley are expected to excel," Tony continued flatly, his strides bringing him close to Harley's side. "Which is why ESU is beneath them. MIT however-"

"Not this again," Peter groaned - though May had already beaten him to the point, her eyes set, and a single finger juxtaposed against the man's chest.

"Peter's. Future. Is. His. Decision," she had said, each word punctuated by her hand, "And. So. Is. Harley's."

"I'm sorry," the man scoffed, "I didn't realize you were his appointed guardian now as well."

"His mother left him in my care," she said, "as far as I'm concerned, it is both my duty and pleasure, Anthony Stark."

...

_**"...this is not what he set out to be; it is all the doing of that timid-looking lady who - has willed it. But how she suffers...** _

_**I have seen him climbing a tree while she stood beneath in unutterable anguish; she had to let him climb, for boys must be brave, but I am sure that, as she watched him, she fell from every branch.** _

...

Dinner had been relatively short - though May had seemed unfazed, even against Harley's bewilderment as Peter and Tony had excused themselves into the night.

"You get used to it," she had said against his voiced nothings. "You don't even have to say it. I heard you. And you get used to it. People come and go so quickly here."

Harley had only nodded to the words, his hands making quick work with the dishes still littered about the table. Barely touched.

"When will they be back?"

"Hard to say," she said, "it didn't seem that serious though. Possibly an hour or two."

Again, he had nodded. Though she hadn't seen it.

Still, she had continued, with her face keened over the sink. "How about we watch a movie? These can wait."

"Sure," Harley had said.

The movie had ended long before Peter had returned, his voice already prepped with Mr. Stark's apologies, and his signature good-natured 'goodbye'. Though he hadn't given it. Not yet. Not with his imminent arrival being lost in between the laughs that had filtered in from the living room.

He had changed quickly, part way home - and had casually strolled into the room, his ears trained and eyes ready to catch some reason for such high volumes of amusement. Only, May and Harley had simply been talking - their bodies, apparently, familiar enough to be unperturbed by the lack of societal space.

"She sounds a lot like Peter at that age-"

"Well she adores him, so that makes sense," Harley had laughed. "Bie actually wants to meet ya too, ya know. She wants to know who's responsible for Peter bein' - well, Peter."

"I resent that," she laughed.

"May," he said, "Peter is the best thing since... I cant even think of anythin' to say."

"Well, that certainly says a lot, doesn't it? Even after William."

"Momma met him once," Harley had said, "didn't think too highly of him. She loves Peter though-"

"Well, you need to tell her that I think very highly of her son as well. I mean it," she said, "you're very sweet. And you're good for him. I'm glad-" At that, May had peered up, her eyes at first curious - then reserved - before opting for amusement instead."Peter-"

"Peter?" Harley had repeated.

"Have you been eavesdropping?"

"What?" He had said, feigning indignation as he stepped out and into the room completely, "n-no, I just got here-"

...

The night had lingered for a short while longer, the music of ordinary life filtering out into a quaint thrum. Before long, the night-light in Peter's room had been staring longingly at Harley, who had rested on his side facing the adjacent wall.

It was, in a sense, the sort of the room that he had expected for the other boy. Minimal - cozy - blue - and lacking in definite features and shapes. As if he hardly kept to it.

"...Harley?"

"Yeah," he had responded, rounding a bit to move over and onto his back. His eyes had found the reds and blues on the ceiling there the same, radiant but less distinctive then the face of the light.

"Are you asleep?"

"Yes - aren't I so articulative durin' my rest?"

"...can I ask you something?"

Harley had felt another retort resting on the tip of his tongue, though he had pressed it aside, choosing to look, instead, to the left where Peter's bed had resided. To his surprise, Peter's face had already been aligned to the bedding, staring down at him.

"Why...why are ya lookin' at me like that?"

Peter shrugged, still staring, "didn't realize I was giving a look." Then, "who's William?"

Harley had frowned, not at having been caught, in truth, but just by surprise at that name having been said by Peter. He had expected the name to be traded between he and May, after all - especially after divulging it into her. Though hearing it said, had proved a tad differently. Not unsettling, just oddly set.

"He was someone I knew," he had said, opting for easier words - simpler ones. As Peter had preferred. "Probably one of my only friends."

"And hes not anymore?"

"No, I only knew him for a bit. His folks had moved midway through the year."

"Oh."

Harley had remained with his eyes to Peter, though the other had drifted upwards, his own eyes searching in the light now behind Harley.

"He moved before I met Tony," he continued, "I uh - the bullyin' had gotten worse after he left... Guess ya could say he was my armor for a bit. Nobody dared to say anythin' to me while he was around. Mostly 'cause he hadn't been afraid to fight. He actually got into fights a lot."

"Because of you?"

"And other things," he had nodded. "He - he was three years older than me, and he use to have this slingshot. Always with him, and he broke a lot of windows. His dad worked at the grocers, so he managed to get a lot of potatoes..."

"You mean-?"

"Yeah," Harley had nodded, "I made it to impress him. And he had been. Never got to see the finished model, but - he liked the prototype."

"Did he...?" Peter stalled. "Did he know why the other kids were bullying you? Besides your dad, I mean."

"Yeah," he said, "sort of. I hadn't known really - not like that. With that word, but... I remember he once said that people were quick to judge when someone was different. That his aunt was a lesbian, so he didn't mind it. I didn't even know what that word meant either, and though he never said it, he knew. He must have."

"...you had a crush on him, didn't you?"

"I suppose. It's to be expected, right? That's a sort of rite of passage. To like the first guy who ever defends ya."

...

"You're leavin'?"

"Moving," William had said, "to Chicago."

"What's Chicago?"

"A shit-hole."

"Same as here?" Harley had remarked.

"Same as everywhere," he had said, "most places are shit-holes. You just gotta find the least shittiest person to hole up with."

Harley hadn't spoken the next string of words, though his heart had thoroughly wanted to. His mouth had even begun to try for it. And perhaps William would have had even understood, and accepted, them for what they were.

_"I'll miss ya."_

Then again, perhaps it would have had sounded too much like,

_"I love ya."_

And Harley wouldn't have had been able to bare it.

In the end, William had left one afternoon - his leaving marked by a sack of potatoes that he had gifted to him.

"Keep shootin', Keener."

...

_**"After that they laughed at Peter for being so fond of the kite, he loved it so much that he even slept with one hand on it,** _

_**and I think this was pathetic and pretty, for the reason he loved it was because it had belonged to a real boy..."** _

...

**"Ah, Peter, we who have made the great mistake, how differently we should all act at the second chance.**

**But Solomon was right; there is no second chance, not for most of us. When we reach the window - the iron bars are up for life..."**

...

The night had droned on, the light invasive but comforting the same. And though he hadn't heard the signs of it, he had assumed Peter to be asleep. Else, the other had simply lulled himself into silence for the passing hour.  
Still, adamant and daring, perhaps even foolishly, Harley had perked up - eyes drawn to the shoulders facing him.

"Peter," he had whispered.

"...yeah?"

He smiled. "Were ya awake this whole time?"

"Yes," he said.

And he realized - just as with those words he hadn't been able to say back then - that he had been an idiot for second-guessing.

"...can I-?" He had tried.

"-do you want to-?" Peter cut in.

...

_**"I don't take up very much room,” the far-away voice said.** _

_**"Why-” said I, sitting up, “do you want to come into my bed?”** _

_**“...I wasn't to want it unless you wanted it first,” he squeaked - and then without more ado the little white figure rose and flung itself at me.** _

_**For the rest of the night he lay on me and across me, and sometimes his feet were at the bottom of the bed and sometimes on the pillow, but he always retained possession...** _

...

Peter had finally dozed off, his head concealed between the bedding and Harley's chest. Though Harley's mind had continued to wander. Sleep there, nestled and ready, to take him away as well. But his mind had been in two halves. And he lay thinking of the boy. Of Peter, and the woman who had been for him. Who, was also sufficiently daring and kindly intellectual. Just as he.

He had also thought of his own mother, and how she had stood with him when she could. How she had continued to keep things as they were, and not as how the shadow had left them.

...

"Its only for the weekend, momma-"

"I know," she had said, her legs splayed out between them. "Still, it's odd to have ya not here."

"I'll be fine. May and Peter-"

"Its Peter I worry about."

She had looked off - always as he did. The motion so embedded as to not have to face truth through ones eyes. Though she'd always return.

"He'd never hurt me-" Harley said.

"No," she had smiled, "he'll simply take ya away one day."

"But I guess I'll have to let ya go sooner or later."

...

With that - Harley had given in - and our two heroes had drifted off together, revisiting the wrecked island of their childhood. An island that told both future and past by means of traveling in the present.

**_"'Did we wreck ourselves,' said one, 'or was there someone to help us?'"_ **

And whatever the answer, both had understood - that if there had been someone there to 'help' them, then certainly their mothers had carried him off. And in their exits, they had left the two boys to find one another.

_Harley and Peter._

...

**_" "And so," said she, clapping her hands after the manner of - a great discovery, "it proves to be my book after all."_ **

**_"With all your pretty thoughts left out," I answered, properly humbled._ **

**_She spoke in a lower voice... “I had only one pretty thought for the book,” she said, “I was to give it a happy ending."_ **

**Author's Note:**

> This story needed to be written! I myself have a terrible affliction for Peter Pan - and Peter Parker - so this was a no-brainer.  
> I chose a more familial take on it all, focusing on life in Rose Hill than I had originally set out to do. I haven't written much over Mrs. Keener in the past, so it was intriguing to do.  
> And while Tony Stark will always be my number one, I had wanted to imagine his 'blindness', sort of speak, to the destruction he often left behind as a hero - before Age of Ultron, that is. And the possible repercussions to Harley as a character, seeing as it was established his father had hurt him, and that he had been bullied in the past.  
> In a deleted scene of Iron Man 3, a bully had mocked Harley by saying he had a boyfriend - ala Tony Stark - which kinda cemented the 'mark' idea of the story.


End file.
